Netherworld
by ConcoctionMaster
Summary: Darkness falls across the land. The midnight hour is close at hand. Creatures crawl in search of blood. To terrorize your neighborhood. And whosoever shall be found. Without the soul for getting down. Must stand and face the hounds of hell. And rot inside a corpse's shell.- Vincent Price in "Thriller". / Walker x OC x Gluskin
1. Chapter 1

A/N: I've wanted to do this fanfic for so long, and finally I've done it! This jewel is my absolute favorite horror game, the scariest ever, and this is coming from someone who is used to horror and all its glorious aspects. For my followers, if you haven't heard of this game or played it, then I recommend watching a walkthrough or reading a little about it before reading-it'll help with context (this is based off of Outlast: Whistleblower by the way). Also, I should let you know that , just like the video game, I will do my best to make this story as fucked up as possible (mwahaha). Enjoy it and stick around until the end.

* * *

Netherworld

One

_Explosions, screams, gunfire, thunder, boots stampeding, clinking of shells, orders barked out, boom, crash, pow, thud, screech, bells ringing, ring, ring, ring, shouts, fire, sputter, red, orders, orders, red, ring, ring, ring, screams, boom, slash, slap, pop, pop, pop, thud, thud, fire, sputter, red, red, thunder, clink, crash, orders, ring, ring, ring _

and amongst all this noise her laughter is faint and Chris Walker tries his hardest to hear that soothing sound.

"Ignore it, ignore the rest, ignore the rest… ignore the rest." He chants to himself, though its impossible for his mind to block out the permanently installed symphony of war. He sits on the cold, concrete floor; his bed too small to fit his large, bulking, form. His legs are plank straight, his arms limp by his sides. _Automatic fire, screams, splatter, splat, boom, snap, gurgle, orders, ring, ring, ring. _

"Ignore it, ignore it, ignore the rest…ignore…ignore." Her laughter used to be clearly audible and so, so soothing to him. Her voice so tranquil, so peaceful, so stable. Simply listening to her laugh and voice was a powerful therapy in its own.

And he was so close to finding his sanity.

_Screech, roar, boom, boom, crying, pow, thud, whoosh, splat._

"Ignore it…ignore." Alarms are shrieking, he hears stampeding, yelling, shouting, and screaming… His washed out pupils stare at the closed, transparent, cell door. No, not the battlefield, this is happening now.

The hospital staff is panicking, buzzing around as if the hive is on fire. Chris stands and strides towards the chaos-the only thing he understands perfectly. There must have been a breech; the fortress is being invaded. A thick, mist crowds the area outside his cell. And Chris watches silently as this mist encloses on the staff, ripping, shredding, gutting, them until all that's left is a messy pool of red and piles of flesh. He knows what the Walrider is, and instinctively programs his new mission into his conscious. He could hear his deceased commander's orders,

"Nothing gets in, nothing gets out. We have to contain it. Lives are at stake." Yes, that's what he has to do. Contain it. Contain the Walrider. The apparition needs a host and this fortress is overflowing with potential victims. With hardly any effort Chris forces the cell door open, just as the Walrider dissipates.

"Contain it, contain it, have to contain it." he steps out into the red painted corridor, his build nearly takes up the whole space around him. He stretches his fingers and flexes his arms; it'd been years since he got to play with his little pigs. But this time he'll have all their heads.

* * *

"No! You bastard child! You're doing it all wrong!" Mrs. Gluskin shouted, smacking the boy upside the head with a switch. And he was so used to the pain his reaction was a slight squirm in his seat.

"How many times must I tell you! The stiches are too loose, how do you expect to take after your father if you cannot even knit!"

"I'm sorry mother."

"Do not apologize, you stupid wench, do it again and if you fail it will be thirty lashes this time."

"Yes, mother." And little Eddie undid all of the stiches to the sweater that was near completion and started over. She didn't let him leave until the sweater was halfway done, and he had stitched it perfectly, and that took nearly seven hours.

Don't be mistaken.

There was no sanctuary for this poor soul to go to afterwards.

Perhaps the closest thing to a safe haven was his imaginative mind. A place he went to often especially at midnight, when most human beings should be resting. His father, or uncle, or men in general would stalk into his room; their shadows appeared as demons before a small candle's flame. And they would pull down his quilt, the one knitted by his grandmother who died so long ago, and they would do things.

Bad things.

Things he knew were an abomination. And it hurt sometimes, and it felt so good other times. He was most ashamed when it was so pleasurable he'd moan loudly and pant and groan, and gasp. He loathed it the most when his father, or uncle, or men would talk to him so vulgarly.

" Don't hold it in, you have a beautiful voice."

" Oh, it feels so good inside you."

" Haha, so you like it when daddy strokes your dick."

"Go on, show uncle how good a kisser you are."

" Let daddy's friend hear how sweet your voice is."

It was all so, so, so wrong.

And these unwanted memories kept flooding to the surface of his conscious. No matter how hard he tries to, they wouldn't stop playing, like being stuck in a cinema doomed to watch the same movie for eternity. Eddie screams and bangs his fists on the cell walls as an even darker demon rapes his mentality. He fails to notice the absolute horror taking place outside his cell.

People thrown against walls, heads exploding, spines ripped out, limbs bending in undesirable ways. And when the man finally came to, his icy blue eyes viewing the massacre before him, he smiles and almost begins laughing, as he basks in the murder. '

They all deserved it' he thinks, 'all these sluts deserved it.'

* * *

Frank Manera loved food, but after his first round in the 'Sphere' it began to taste oddly strange. And he strained his mind to figure out why. The meat was no longer juicy and tasted like wet socks. Vegetables were bland. Dessert wasn't sweet. Even water was a plain bore. He needed something that could please his raging appetite, something new, something he never had before.

The second time he went in the 'Sphere' his hunger for this unknown specimen was so tenacious that he wouldn't accept any regular food or liquid; even when the white coats forced nutrition into him he vomited it up. The third time in the 'Sphere' was his moment of enlightenment. At the time he felt like a wolf on the verge of starvation.

A white coat had made a mistake that day, coming into his cell without understanding the maturity of his madness. The white coat's skin was so pale; you could see all the little and big veins. And his jugular was so prominently exposed, blooding clearly rushing through it, pulsating. Frank didn't even realize he had sunk his teeth into the white coat's throat.

And as blood gushed into his mouth he began to salivate heavily. This wasn't the metallic substance, in his mind. This was chocolate fondue. Since that day he was kept restrained twenty fours hours a day seven days a week; until now. He had been asleep when the attack happened, and when he woke drool seeps from his lips as his eyes hungrily take in the corpses that litter the floor just outside his cell door.

He could move freely now, somehow the restraints were removed, and he would partake in a momentous feast.

* * *

The alarms blare incredibly loud and covering her ears didn't help. From the transparent cell door Naia could see the doctors, nurses, and security guards rushing around, yelling, some screaming, panicking, like ants having been disrupted from their line. She could see the other patients through these invisible walls. Some seem just as confused as her, some actually smile with a psychotic excitement in their expression, some are completely indifferent to the hysteria.

Naia pounds her hands against the cell door, demanding to know what is happening-and of course she is ignored. As if the situation couldn't become any stranger the power goes out. The emergency lights switch on. And she could see all the faculty being violently thrown about, some exploding in mid air, the rest smashed against the walls, floor, and ceiling. Just a foot away from her is a bloody, gory, mess of what used to be human forms.

"Oh… Oh God." She gasps. What the fuck is happening! Suddenly the cell door clicks and the sliding entrance becomes ajar. The other patients are leaving their cells.

"Hey!" one of them calls out to her. A man, with a throbbing tumor growing out his cheeks comes up to her. And she steps back, afraid of what he could do.

"Well are ya comin' or what? We get ta finally leave this shithole." Naia stares, not responding at all; still unsure of what she should do. The man's glossy eyes glance to his right, then left.

"Well if ya wanna die, fine. But I ain't waitin' around for that misty thingy ta come back." And with that said he is gone, while Naia stays immobile. She knew, first hand, that the misty thingy is bad news. A few weeks ago, during the night, it hovered over her body for an hour. She had felt it breathing on her, even felt it touch her; a soft caress on her cheek and neck, something a man would to the woman he's infatuated by.

That thing is roaming freely now and if she didn't move it would, no doubt, come for her. Naia gently slides the door open and does her best to not throw up from the scent of fresh blood and flesh. She steps into the corridor, disregarding the mess squishing along her bare feet. And all she thinks about is how she shouldn't be here; she didn't belong here.

"It'll be okay." She tells herself. This is her chance to finally escape and once she is free she would make it her mission to burn this company for what they've done to her and everyone else in this hell.

* * *

A/N: I should warn you that this story will be kind of a big enigma until the climatic part of it (teehee).


	2. Chapter 2

_Two_

"You're going to live." Naia tells herself for the tenth time as she continues down a corridor splattered with human remains. A distant scream causes her to pause entirely, listening for any incoming enemies

…Nothing.

"God, give me strength." She prays quietly and walks on. Constantly streaming through her mind is how she had worked in this asylum for nearly four years and never knew there was a whole underground laboratory! It made her think of those cheesy horror flicks, except this is real and a whole lot scarier-and not in the thrilling way.

Naia could find her way out if she could find a way to the upper levels; there had to be an elevator somewhere. As she comes closer to a room she hears the sound of gutting and gushing. A wide window reveals a group of men, all patients, gathered around a metal table with a deceased doctor upon it, a knife in his torso and his abdomen crudely sliced open.

"You!" suddenly shouts the only man, oddly, clothed-the rest are naked.

"There are no observers here! Either participate or fuck off." And he unsheathes the knife from the corpses torso proceeding to mutilate its face. Naia moves on. She nears a decontamination chamber, a passage she went through many times while down here.

As she steps into the chamber a rush of nausea overtakes her. Suddenly her vision is obscured by black and red splotches, constantly morphing into indecisive shapes. Naia clutches her head now pulsing in searing pain. She shrinks to the floor and retches the little food within her. When the episode is finally over she lays against the wall, trying to find the will to keep going.

'They have to pay!

They have to pay for what they've done to you!' Naia's conscious chants to her. And this intense, deep, hatred, a catastrophic feeling she never knew she could experience, reemerges within her, like a dying fire bursting to life.

"They have to pay." She repeats to herself and groggily stands. Once managing to reestablish her equilibrium, she continues out of the chamber into the next area.

* * *

Chris stares around the room. All of six of them had been decapitated.

"Clear." He mumbles to himself-acknowledging the room free of contamination by the Walrider. Carefully, he walks along the floor, examining the detached heads from the bodies, deciding which would be his to keep. All of them are, rather, horrifying; each with some kind of contusion growing out of their faces. None of them even had hair. And their teeth are too yellow stained and crooked.

Chris growls and clenches his fist.

Out of the fifty he had killed in the past three hours only few were worthy enough to become a part of his collection. If only everyone here were as beautiful as her, a woman blessed with the face of an angel.

That was a head he would take absolute pride in, but he knew he'd never do that to her. Then he'd never hear her sweet laughter again, or feel her skin against his again, or revel in her mouth-watering taste again.

And the rest of the atom-sized humanity he had within him would be gone.

"Contain it. Have to contain it." He says and stomps out the room. He wanted to think of her voice, but his military protocol wouldn't allow it. Not until the mission is complete.

* * *

The abuse didn't end when Eddie entered his teenage years. If anything it was extra frequent and increasingly brutal. As a small child, though the actions done to him were quite hideous, he was handled with fragility. At fourteen he experienced a whole new level of suffering.

It began on the morning of his birthday. His father, Mr. Gluskin, was busy at his tailor shop, so, much to Eddie's dismay, the boy was left with his mother for most of that day. It was a Saturday morning, so school could not withdraw him from home. He was told by his father not to leave the house so going to the park was no longer an option.

And disobeying his father could be worse than being whipped by his deranged mother. She was busy cleaning the house and preparing a meal to celebrate Eddie's fourteen years of life.

And don't be mistaken, she could care less about such an occasion, but her husband had given her orders so she followed them without hesitation. When night came, and his father came home, they blandly sung happy birthday and ate dinner and cake. At ten at night his mother retired to bed. At eleven at night Mr. Gluskin brought him to downstairs into the basement.

Unlike most basements of this era this one was picture perfect. Completed and painted walls and ceiling, a soft cushion carpeting, and all of his father's labors were neatly arranged around the wide spacious room. On his father's workbench a rectangular shape, covered by a red fabric, sat amongst string, scissors, and strips of cloth. Eddie looked to his father, who nodded his head with a perfect smile.

"Go on. Go see what it is." The boy went to the obscured gift, ripping the fabric off, and his eyes widened in delight upon viewing the beautiful, pristine white, sewing machine with his initials engraved on the base of it.

"Do you like it?" Mr. Gluskin queried.  
"Yes. Thank you very much father."

"You're very welcome, darling." And a callous hand caressed Eddie's lower back.

"Daddy has another present for you." And the memory pauses as an older Eddie screams,

"Stop! No more I say!" and a fist pounds onto the workbench he currently sits before. In front of him is a sewing machine, modernized compared to his old one. Under the needle is a black fabric gradually manifesting itself into a simple vest. Eddie unclenches his hand and curses; his fist wrinkled the white dress shirt he just ironed.

"Please, oh, please let me go. I… I swear I won't say anything, please let me g-"

"-SHUT UP!" Eddie shouts at the bare man secured inside a locker a few meters away from him. And for a few seconds there is silence, and then the man starts to sob. With an aggravated growl, Eddie leaves his station and fumes toward the lone locker.

"Why do you women whine so damn much!" he complains, shaking the metal vigorously-and the poor man inside shrieks in pure fear.

"You want to leave me, huh?" he says, in a sudden, deceiving, gentle tone.

"You'd… you'd rather… rather live with some other man than be with me?"

"What?" the victim cries in confusion.

"NO! I won't let you! I'LL KILL YOU BEFORE I LET YOU LEAVE ME!" and Eddie tears open the locker door dragging out the panicking man within, and forcibly leading him to his "other" workshop.

And as he makes his way down a dark corridor the memory un-pauses and fast forwards. Flashing over horrid moments of needles piercing into his skin, painful slaps across his face, harsh thrusts, and disgusting laughs from his psychotic father. By the time it was over the young Eddie was a bloody mess, not bleeding enough to kill him, but enough to traumatize for life.

The memory ceases as Eddie slams the poor victim onto a long wooden table-located in the lumber workshop.

"Oh no, please, please don't kill me!" the man pleads,

"Shut up!"

* * *

Frank glares down at his fresh meat. He hadn't cut into it yet; his mouth salivates, as he hasn't decided where to start. A hand gripping an electric saw hovers over the body, indecisive of where to make the first incision. After much consideration he cuts, deep, into the body's torso, splitting through skin, muscle, and bone. He sticks a hand into the gaping wound and grasps the meat's heart gently tugging it out.

"Yes. This is mine. All mine." He says and bites into the dripping crimson organ. When he finishes the heart, he makes another cut into the body's abdomen, wandering what the liver would taste like. Before he could pull out the large, thick organ a crash, coming from close by, halts his movements.

"Dammit!" a voice yells. Footsteps come closer; soon he is staring into terrified dark brown eyes. A female, an uncommon specimen amongst an asylum full of males, sees his attire and begins to gag. Oddly, Frank felt like he's seen this one before. She wasn't a white coat, and she clearly wore a patient uniform though he couldn't recall her as a patient. Nevertheless, it didn't change the fact that she's meat, and a special kind of meat.  
"Will you be mine?" he questions, and smiles when she, with no hesitation, takes off.


	3. Chapter 3

_Three_

'Oh God this can't be happening' Naia screams within her mind as she crawls underneath a table covered with a long white sheet. Her shivering hands cover her mouth and she seizes to breathe as footsteps enter the dark room.

"Don't be afraid. I just want to…for us to merge as one." The sound of an electric saw echoes loud in the small space.

"Didn't you feel it? I felt it. I feel the need for you to be in me. For you to be mine." She sees his soot covered feet pause before the table. Naia looks around her, hoping for anything she could use as a weapon. There is an empty plastic bucket to her right that would definitely do no damage.

"I promise it'll be quick. And no part of you will be wasted. Cross my heart."

'Fuck you' she thinks to herself. It's a useless weapon but it's better than nothing. She clutches the rim of the plastic tightly, prepared to swing as hard as she could.

"Give yourself up baby. I'm not a fan of games." Just as Naia gets the absurd thought to take the man on, a sudden stream of curses catches both their attention.

"Hmm." The sound leads him away from the room. She bolts from under the table and nearly shouts out in happiness at the sight of a vent wide enough to fit her size. She hastily pushes the table against the wall and wastes no time pulling up the latch that would release the vent's door.

She climbs inside, crawling through the confined space as fast as she could. She comes upon another vent overlooking a corridor. She sees no one, but she hears and feels the thumping off some massive figure coming near. She remains still and alert.

Her eyes widen in horror when she sees him. Pulsing sore pink flesh drenched in blood she's sure isn't his own. Large, muscular arms and a bulging belly that seems awfully painful. Glassy eyes stare straight ahead. His yellowing teeth and gums are forever displayed due to the absence of his lips. His nose is also missing and a chunk of skin on his forehead is gone, as if it were scratched away.

"Have to contain it." his voice is familiar.

Naia thought back to all the patients she's ever had. She remembered one particular prisoner, and the realization came to her in a breath-taking rush. She knows this man. She was his nurse ever since her first day in this wretched asylum. She thought of the day they moved him from her care to another facility-at least that's what she was told.

Clearly here he is.

She didn't remember him as this monstrosity. He had actually been quite handsome. And he'd also been the most well behaved patient she'd dealt with.

Now he looks like the last thing you want to come across.

* * *

He loved it when she spoke French to him.

He got a hard on when she sung to him in the language-soft and sweet-like.

As she sung she would rub her gentle hands along his back and place swift kisses upon scarred skin. He would embrace her, then, holding her close and taking in her intoxicating scent.

This place did not have her aroma. This place contradicted everything that made her such an ethereal being. He feels guilty, now, for thinking about her as he holds a man's severed head.

This is war times, there's no room for distractions.

"Have to stay focused," Chris tells himself, his lumbering form creeping down a long corridor,

"Have to contain it." but she never, ever, leaves him.

She's always there, somewhere in his blaring conscious, singing or humming or simply talking.

He remembers a time in Iraq. That day when his team were sitting around the base of a tree -directly by the mess hall- eating lunch and drinking beer and doing their best to be cheery in such a hectic place. They were within the perimeters of their base, so they were as relaxed as they could be. Someone made a joke, and he remembered how everyone laughed at it, even though it really wasn't that funny-that's when the bombs went off.

The mess hall exploded. Shards of it pierced the soldier beside him. He remembered the ringing in his ears. The shouts, the cries, the ringing, ringing, ringing. Despite all of it, despite the noise, he heard her. He felt her arms around him, her lips on his lips, her scent imprinting on him.

"Stay focused," He tells himself again.

"Stay focused."

* * *

Eddie left home the day he graduated High school. He had packed light, and in the night abandoned the life he didn't deserve to find a new one. He searched for years. And he did find it, ten years later, in a woman from New York, New York.

She even had the perfect name, Pristine.

She was his first everything. His first date, first kiss by a woman, first fuck by a woman, first love from a woman- and he loved her fiercely. He treated her with kindness, he did his best to respect her and cherish her with all his might. He loved her more than his own wretched life. He didn't realize his love had developed into a severe obsession. By the third year of their marriage he had come to the conclusion that she was a divine being, and he worshipped her every demand and want.

What she did to him devastated him.

"Your almost perfect darling." Eddie says, caressing the inner thigh of his latest victim.

"You only need one more adjustment." His hand hovers over the man's private area and a sudden flash of his father comes to mind. Eddie clenches his teeth and picks up the long, garden, sheers from his workbench.

"It'll only hurt for a moment." He failed to realize the man has been blacked out from his, once, thick arms and legs being stripped of their muscle. What Eddie was about to do would, surely, keep him unconscious forever.

* * *

Frank hated distractions. He hated losing focus. Even worse, he hated being disturbed during meal times. And thanks to this pale, thin, meat he lost his precious prize. Cutting him into pieces wouldn't be enough to soothe his rage; this meat must suffer. Frank has the blonde man by his neck and he swiftly forces him onto a metal table. The furnace it is connected to springs to life at the press of a button,

"You stay there, and cook." He says harshly and thrusts the table into the furnace closing the door and locking it tight. He listens to the meat scream in terror; the sound makes him chuckle in delight.

He stays by the furnace, waiting for his meat to crisp to perfection. He thinks of what he would eat first. He hasn't tried brain before. His musing makes him drool. His loss of attention prevents him from realizing that his meat is escaping. It takes a loud rumble to snap him back to focus. He opens the furnace and sees his meat crawling out of a whole from the back of the furnace.

"NO!" he tries to go after it but the fire suddenly rises to its full potential.

"NO! NO! YOU WERE MINE!" he shouts furiously.

"FUCK YOU!" the meat shouts back.


	4. Chapter 4

_Four_

There is no hesitation in Waylon's decision to jump out the window-though he'd never done so before. But it was either be eaten by some psychotic cannibal or risk a few broken bones. Fortunately, nothing broke and as crazy as the cannibal is, he has enough sense not to jump out a two-story window after him.

Waylon thought he had lost him when he escaped the furnace. Hopefully he lost the cannibal for good. He examines the condition of his camcorder, frowning at the blinking red bar signifying its low battery. He walks a few paces forward, stumbling slightly, but once he found his equilibrium began in a new direction. He needs batteries, otherwise how would he record the surreal nightmare happening here.

He won't allow those Murkoff bastards to get away with this-no amount of corporate money would help them once this video goes viral. Just the thought of ruining them gives Waylon the adrenaline to move on. And he will do whatever it takes to survive this hell. His main priority is to find any way to alert the police; but in this old huge asylum it's easier said than done.

He never realized how few phones arearound-now he knows why. Waylon continues into another building, not quite sure where he's heading. He's happy to finally be out of the basement, but he doesn't feel any more safe-in fact the surface seems just as hazardous. Perhaps if he could get up high enough, maybe to one of the towers, there would be radio transmitters present.

* * *

Naia drops down from the vent, just as the giant patient turns a corner. At first she thought of calling out to him, but no one seemed to be in their right mind lately-including herself. The last thing she wants is to be attacked, and her chances against that mass of bulk are near zero. She chooses to go in the opposite direction, towards-what appears to be-a hallway specifically dedicated to elevators.

She never felt so happy of wanting to be in an elevator and rapidly presses the up button. A ding sounds and one of the metal doors slide open, revealing a man within it. Her heart almost stops from the sight of him. Whatever is on his head cannot be called a face. Its like someone had taken a cleaver and whacked away at his face, leaving alone the eyes, and his top lip is gone as if ripped off.

"'ello miss. Goin' up?" he says in a weird voice, like he's gargling water and trying to talk at the same time.

"I am…are you getting off?" Naia says, wondering why he would ask her for 'up' when that was the only direction they could go.

"Gettin' off? I'm the operator miss." He definitely isn't the elevator operator. Most prisoners Naia has seen have completely rid of their prison uniforms yet this man not only has his on its clean. And she isn't boarding the machine with him on it; trouble practically oozes from him.

"I'll catch the next one."

"Ya sure miss? You don't mind the gentleman behind you takes your spot?" 'gentleman' Naia thinks, peering behind her. A shriek erupts from her throat at the sight of the massive fiend who used to be her patient. She rushes into the elevator, pushing any button and chanting for the doors to close. The monster cocks his head,

"Do I know you?" he says, just before metal doors completely block him from view. Naia lets out a breath of relief as the machine begins to rise.

"Ya know, I don't appreciate you doing my job for me miss."

"Sorry." She says.

"I'm guessin' you're not goin' to the main floor?"

"What?" she looks to the elevator's button pad, and wanted to palm her face at seeing the lower level button highlighted by red- she'd forgotten this building has a basement, she just didn't know these Murkoff jerks had built another one directly below it. She tries to push for the first floor, but the prisoner suddenly becomes aggressive. He grabs her harshly and pulls her back,

"Nope. You only get one stop." He sneers. And when the metal doors open he pushes her out.

"Fucker!" she yells at him, and fumes when he laughs.

* * *

He would never forget finding her sitting on that man, inside of him, riding him like it was her only purpose in life. At first he was too surprised to say anything. They were so busy in the heinous act they hadn't noticed his presence. So he closed his own bedroom door, and stood there, trying to process if his wife's betrayal was a dream or reality.

He opened the door again, hoping he was being delusional, but the man and his wife were still there, screaming and fucking like there was no tomorrow. He didn't say anything, couldn't say anything for he suddenly lost his voice, and his eyes refused to look away. Here was the woman he had worshipped like a goddess incarnate, screwing another man as if he were her god.

Eventually they both came into each other, and eventually his existence became known. Of course the man was angered that her husband had come home sooner than expected. Of course she was shocked and was yelling at the other man to "GET OUT!" as she swiftly covered herself. Eddy let the other man leave. He was stiller than a statue, as his wife was on her knees before him, apologizing, crying, and begging for forgiveness.

"I love you baby, he was nothing, he was just something to pass the time." She explains in between sobs. He looks down at her, no longer seeing a pure woman. She was tainted now, filthy even.

"How long?" he says calmly, though the tension building inside him was near its boiling point.

"That doesn't matter baby, I-"

"How long _woman_?" he sneered,

"Two…Two months." And the memory seizes as Eddy slams a hammer into a man's torso.

"You're all the fucking same!" he screams, continuously stabbing and gutting the deceased man, letting the blood gushing and squirting onto his skin fuel his rage.

"You're nothing but stupid, disgusting, sluts! You're whores! You're the garbage of mankind!" he fumes all insults he could think of. And when there is nothing left of the body but mesh and bone, he throws the tool across the room and screams until his voice becomes hoarse.

He sinks to the ground, hating that his eyes swell with tears. He didn't want to cry, not over her, not over someone so despicable and piggish. The memory continues from where it paused. He stood before his kneeling wife, feeling terribly numb and cold, as if he'd been sitting in a tub full of ice.

"Say something darling, please. I don't like silence." Pristine cried.

"How could you do this to me. I did everything for you. I live for you."

"I know you do baby, and I'm sorry, so so sorry-"

"-Sorry won't cut it." He seethed. And the memory fast forwards. He killed his wife and her 'man', butchered them in fact. And specifically disposed of her body by feeding it to his dogs, because she was no better than dog food-just like his mother. Something truly snapped within him since then.

Eddie abused his excellent ability to charm others.

Many women fell under his alluring spell, not knowing they would be taken, restrained, tortured, possibly raped, killed and fed to his dogs just like his first wife. Each he thought was the 'One', and the luckiest survived for more than a week. But none could appeal to his blatant insanity. Nothing they did was ever good enough.

"All the same." Eddie whispers to himself.

* * *

Chris knows he has seen this woman before. Where? He can't quite pin point that. But the woman is definitely familiar. Short black hair, grey eyes, olive-tone skin; he's seen it before. He takes a moment to think. He remembered her face and her voice and her touch and her scent, he remembered his time in the military, he remembered being committed to this hellhole for the criminally insane, he remembered coming to the basement, and he knows memories are missing. Everything between his admittance and coming to the lab is somewhat of a blur. He shakes his head, hating that he's let himself become distracted. He has a job to do; there is no time to dwell on the familiar.

"Have to contain it." He reminds himself. He's completely cleared the laboratory, not a soul is left for the Walrider to possess.

"On to the next." And he presses the button that would summon the elevator back.

* * *

A/N: Thanks for all the super nice comments, i know its been a while (like a long while!). I hope every one had a safe and fun new years!


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